Ink Black
by Epicosity39
Summary: Abused by his mother and kids in school, without a father, Mikey is pretty depressed with his life. The only bright light is his best friend, Jack. The most popular, and charismatic boy all through out their small little suburban town. But even though both boys have not all to normal house lives , something else is amiss in their small town. Something not of normal reality.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

The story I'm about to tell you is true. I've seen…..things, things which your mind is incapable to fathom in this world. Terrible, hideous things that only belong in a child's nightmares or in a Steven King book. I tried to forget about that…thing, but 'it' won't let me. Before I begin, please….please never go looking for the cave system in the outskirts of town.

Jack. My best friend…he just wanted to help. He just wanted to do something fun. He didn't-…..we didn't know. We were only kids….I should have told him to go home, that it was a stupid idea. I could've stopped it, but…I…I didn't.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

It was just any other typical, boring Saturday morning. Jack had come through my window in the middle of the night, saying he couldn't sleep. We stayed up and talked for a bit. He told me his parents got into another fight and that he was getting annoyed by the constant bickering. Finally we both settled into my bed, back to back, and slept until the early afternoon. I woke up slowly, still dazed by my nice dream. I noticed Jack wasn't in my bed anymore and at first wrote last night off as just a part of my dream, until I smelled mom making breakfast downstairs…..Mom only made breakfast when Jack was over.

I stayed in my pajamas and clambered down the stairs. But before I left I saw my desk drawer, with all my short stories and journals inside, was left ajar. I knew I didn't leave it open. I hadn't opened it in months.

When I reached the kitchen Jack was already stuffing his face with pancakes and guzzling down a glass of orange juice. He paused for a moment when he saw me in the door way. He swallowed the rest of his food and gave me one of his dazzling smiles.

"Man, I thought you would never wake up. You were sleeping like the dead and don't look much better." He chuckled at his comparison and continued eating. My mom stopped what she was doing when she heard Jack talking to me. She turned to me and looked clearly upset and angered. Probably because I ruined her alone time with her (desperate and increasingly disturbing) crush, Jack.

My mom is really starting to freak me out. Even though Jack is the same age as me, she still tries to flirt with him and to get….closer to him…..She's really messed up somewhere in that head of hers. I snapped back to reality when I hear my mom's shrill, fake sweet voice.

"Now Michael, how many times have I told you to get up off your butt, get ready, and do something productive in the morning?"

"Never," I mumbled, but she wasn't listening to me. She was making sure Jack could hear her and support her. (That would just boost her fantasies, wouldn't it?) But like usual, Jack always stood up for me, making up excuses for my actions.

"I don't know, Ms. K. With someone like Mikey, he needs all of the rest he can get to preserve his strength. Besides, it's difficult to get him out of his room now. Just think of how hard it would be to keep him away for hours at a time." He laughed again and my mother just stood there, flustered and turned back to the stove. I grabbed the orange juice and poured myself a glass as I waited for my bread to toast. Mom didn't make me any breakfast; she only made things for Jack.

I wanted to go eat in my room, so I didn't have to stay in there with my mother longer than necessary, but stopped when I saw the look Jack gave me and sat down in front of him. After about twenty minutes my mom left for work, waving and giving a very "promising" goodbye to Jack….She said nothing to me. Jack, being as oblivious as ever to my mother's fatuous advances, said a quick goodbye back and tugged me back to my room when she closed the front door.

He let go of my arm and walked over by my desk. I knew he was going for that one drawer so I lay down on the bed and curled up on myself. I hid my face in a cool pillow when I heard him flipping through some pages in one of my many note books.

"You stopped," he said quietly. I didn't say anything back to him. "Mikey….. Hey, come on. Why did you stop? Please tell me….You know you can trust me." Again I said nothing. "What happened, Mikey….Mikey?" He yelled my name and picked me up so that I was now looking him in the eyes. "Did she do something to you?" he asked, looking into my eyes for any reaction.

"I just don't see what's so special about wasting my time on such stupid things…It's just a**ridiculous** and foolish idea to think that I could spend my life being a writer, being a somebody! Besides, who would care about some nobody? My mind is something that no one wants a peak into….I'll die as I lived…Being nothing…." The way I spoke would make you think I was cutting you with a razor tipped with poison. I grabbed his hand that was gripping my shirt, but it held fast like an iron clamp. I looked at him and glared daggers up at his face, still trying to pry his hand away. Frustrated, I just left my hand on his, still glaring at him. After awhile his gazed softened and his gripped lessened on my collar.

He sighed tiredly and held my hand over my heart. "I…I'm sorry, Mikey. It…It's just that, I'm scared that one day you're going to….hurt yourself…" He paused and looked down at our intertwined fingers, embarrassed by his words.

"What? You think I'm so self pitiful that I would try to kill myself?" I said, slightly raising my voice. He looked back up at me with sadness and worry in his eyes. "N-n-no! I don't think you're 'stupid' and I don't think you're 'self pitiful'. You know what I meant. I…I...I just don't want anything to happen to you, Mikey. Without you I would just be…all alone." He rested his forehead on my chest and just sat there, slightly holding on to me. Jack always did this when he felt upset or lonely. It made him feel grounded, real….like he existed. As a child, neither his mother nor father ever picked him up, held him, or gave him any source of reassurance. That's why he did it to me. I was the only one who wouldn't turn him away or ridicule him. I understood how he felt. In some way, this comforted me as well.

Jack's family is what you would call a step up from a broken home. His father was a mechanic with a shop near the outer boundaries of town and he also had a history of hitting the bottle to hard. His father would always show up at late intervals in the night smelling strongly of liquor and sweat. (Most likely from the local bar that he was rather fancy of.) Both of his parents smoked, but his mother was the worst. Jack's mother was no better than his father. She could be a cold, cruel, sadistic person when she was challenged, angry, or in most cases, drunk. His father would mostly just divulge in cans of cheap beer and maybe a glass of whiskey at times, but his mother could vary from champagne to straight up vodka. His mother still acted as the teenage girl of her days and not as a respectable mother like she should have been. She worked from time to time up at the diner on Thompson Boulevard, usually the night shifts. His parents also fought a lot when they were left under the same roof for too long. Jack had two siblings, an older brother and a little sister. They never talked though. His whole family were all pretty much distant with each other. But in all honesty, my family is not so far off either.

It's only me and the thing I'm technically suppose to call my mother. I don't really remember what happened to my dad, (if I ever even had one). The last thing I can recall is when I was four. I was playing with my homemade stuffed toys (the sweet old lady next door made me them) when I heard crashes and yelling downstairs. It was two voices, one high, one deep. I couldn't make out what they were saying…Suddenly, a man opened my door and walked over to me…..His face was…blurred out. Even today, I can't remember what he looks like. He crouched down to me, ruffled my hair, and told me something. I can't hear what he's saying, but I can see his lips moving. He kissed me on the forehead, got up, and left my room. I got up and went over to my window when I heard the front door slam close. The man now had a suitcase and threw the brown, leather rectangle into the trunk. He slammed the trunk and got into the driver's seat. He had just started up the car when the woman came out screaming again. She started to bash the hood with her fists in a fit of rage….Her face was blurry too. The man backed the car out into the street with the woman chasing after. She started, half heartedly, running down the street after him, but gave up quickly and instead threw her shoes at the car….The man never came back.

My mom, from the day I was born, is a raging alcoholic and a "mistress of the night", so to speak. During the day, she works at a pancake house across town, but during the night she works at an "art club". (I think you know what I mean.) She's always bringing home a new guy every week. I never liked any of them. They were all the same type, narcissistic, arrogant idiots with too much money at hand. Some of them just had too much pent up frustration and just wanted a human punching bag. Mom could never let one of them ruin her "perfect" face though, so she would just lead most of them to my room. She made sure that they didn't hit me a lot in places where someone would take notice. This actually played a part of me meeting Jack in the first place. It was a little over six years ago, back when-

Cold water splashed against my face, entering my nostrils and my mouth. The metallic scent of blood striking me out of my thoughts and the water making me gag.

Cough…Sputter…Hack…"Mikey….Mikey, you okay buddy?" I was still getting over the shock and just nodded my head like an idiot. "You blacked out again, bud. Your nose was bleeding pretty badly too." Well, that explains the smell. I was recovering slowly and finally realized we were in my bathroom. I was sitting on the toilet, soaked to the bone. A sudden chill went down my spine causing me to shiver. "Oh! I'm sorry, man! I yelled at you and shook you, but you didn't respond. The only thing I could think of was to throw water on you. It always works in the movies!" As my senses slowly came back to normal speed, I listen to some of the things he was babbling about. It got more ridiculous and laughable as the seconds dragged on. Eventually, I let him off the hook. "It—it's okay. Thanks."

He let out a sigh of relief and had his signature goofy smile back in place. "What were you thinking about anyway?" I paused, thinking if I should tell him or not… "My…dad…." I looked down at my feet, feeling ashamed of myself for some reason. Suddenly, I felt thick cloth fall on my head. Jack was drying my head gently with a towel. I just looked up at him. When he noticed my stare, he looked at me and smiled. "We don't want you getting sick now, do we?" He chuckled and went back to his task. I let out a sigh, not of anger, but of relief. Things are finally starting to become a little more normal.

* * *

I've been working on an idea for a story for a while now and I've planned out alot of this story in the last year, but I would real appreciate any ideas you may have.

So please review and tell me what you think and if I should continue or not.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

After that stunt in the bathroom I decided it was time to take a shower. Well….once Jack stopped whining about how bored he was. After he had finished flipping through the small amount of channels on my bedroom T.V, and coming up with nothing good on, he just kept going on about random subjects. "Why did Mrs. Blanc have to give a book report right before the start of break", "who do you think is was who torched Mr. Kraller's beloved, prize winning garden", "did you hear a kid at school found a finger is his lunch", or "did you hear about Troy and his gang's latest stunt", was just some of the stuff that he brought up. I only listened to about half of the stuff he was saying and just let out small grunts as my replies, tossing a ball in the air as I did. I was just waiting until he found something else to capture his attention or hopefully fall asleep so I could sneak off to my bathroom. I knew if I went in there now he would most likely follow and just sit on the toilet, still trying to carry on a conversation, while I would be in the shower. I really hated it when people saw me without my shirt let alone someone being in the same room with me while I'm naked. Another of my multiple pet peeves; just the thought made me want to crawl out of my skin.

Eventually, Jack got hungry and went downstairs to raid my fridge and cabinets for anything edible. I seized the moment and hurried into my bathroom. I turned the hot water knob half of the way to the left. As I waited for the water to warm up, I went over to the sink and started washing my face. Slightly hunching my back, I put my face close up to the faucet and splashed a cupped hands worth of water in my face. I blindly felt around for the wash cloth I kept nearby. As I grasped the fabric I stood back to full height and started rubbing the remaining water droplets away.

When I opened my eyes though, I was met with the unexpected. Everything was black, a very deep black. The tiled walls and floor, the bathtub, and even the wash cloth were nothing but black. Liquid, that resembled what seemed to be blood, oozed from every crevice in between the tiles. I was more pale than usual and….was something coming from the wall? Slowly, something that seemed to be an arm, reached out from the wall behind and to the left of me. The black substance seemed to start coming of the thing's hand kind of like water….No, more like ink. When the hand was just about to the elbow, enough of the black had dripped away revealing some patches of pale skin and small, curved fingers. I chose, at that moment, to blink and rub my eyes.

When I opened my eyes again….it was all gone. It was the normal me in my normal bathroom. I shrugged it off and went over to test the shower water. It was most likely just my over active imagination and my restlessness playing tricks on me (as well as my medication ignorance). The water was bearable enough that I jumped in and started relaxing in the soothing water stream. Relishing in the blissfulness that I rarely experience, I still felt like I was forgetting something….

About twenty minutes later I had finished with the head to toe (skin blistering) scrub down that left me feeling a little better about myself. Now feeling sanitary, I stepped out of the now freezing shower and rapped myself up in a couple of towels (one around the waist and another over the shoulders.) I went back to the sink and started to comb out my short hair and brush my yellow tinted teeth. As I lowered my head to spit out the last remaining bits of toothpaste, the lid to my pill bottle caught my eye. Remember that I told you I have a lot of…pet peeves. Well, apparently their not normal to have. At least, mine aren't.

I have a type of severe nightmare disorder that can also make me hallucinate and sleep walk. Most of the times though, I wake up screaming and usually the nightmares are still going on even after I've woken up. They also labeled me as schizophrenic, depressed, and as a "tweaked out" freak. (Okay, that last part was just something that the nurses called me in hushed voices in the halls when they thought no one could hear.) Also, when I was about eight or ten, bulimia was another of my problems so to speak. (That was mainly why I was always so small as a kid.) It wasn't because I was scared of being fat or hated myself (well, not entirely). It was because I was always in pain or when the fear within me was too much to bare. The doctors only wrote it off as bulimia because they didn't really want to get mixed up in my household dilemmas. Ha, isn't it ironic that the few people in this world that your suppose to idolize and trust in the most troubling of situations are really just stuck up pricks who don't give two shits about you. (Pardon my French.)

I've also thought about killing myself… (Shocker, right?) I might have already if it hadn't been for Jack. He never liked seeing me upset or hateful to myself. He says that he always wants to see me happy, like I deserve to be, never fearful of every little thing or never in pain and turmoil such as the day he found…saved me. He also hated the pills they gave me. He said they don't help, that they just make me numb to the world and that they make my eyes look lost…Lost, as in the hazy film that glazes over someone's eye when their dead. Isn't that's what's happening to me, though? I'm slowly dying….Every single day…

To this day I will never know what possessed me to pick up that bottle in that moment. All I remember is franticly trying to unscrew the cap. I tossed a few pills into my palm (maybe I should have counted) and swallowed them dry. The last thing I felt was my back landing on top of my bed.

_Whispers, their filling my ears…Dark, demonic little whispers that carry no words…Only that and the beating of my heart are the only things in this dark abyss...A childlike giggle starts caressing my ears…What the hell was that? Something is moving around, but I can't see it...There's no way out..._

* * *

Please review and any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
